“Yes, sir.”

At 7:55 A.M., Police Commissioner Taddeus Czernich, a tall, heavyset, fifty-seven-year-old with a thick head of silver hair, had been waiting in the inner reception room of the office of the Mayor in the City Hall Building when one of the telephones on the receptionist’s desk had rung.

“Mayor Carlucci’s office,” the receptionist, a thirty-odd-year-old, somewhat plump woman of obvious Italian extraction, had said into the telephone, and then hung up without saying anything else. Czernich thought he knew what the call was. Confirmation came when the receptionist got up and walked to the door of the Mayor’s private secretary and announced, “He’s entering the building.”

The Mayor’s secretary, another thirty-odd-year-old woman, also of obvious Italian extraction, who wore her obviously chemically assisted blond hair in an upswing, had arranged for the sergeant in charge of the squad of police assigned to City Hall to telephone the moment the mayoral limousine rolled into the inner courtyard of the City Hall Building.

Czernich stood up and checked the position of the finely printed necktie at his neck. He was wearing a banker’s gray double-breasted suit and highly polished black wing-tip shoes. He was an impressive-looking man.

Three minutes later, the door to the inner reception room was pushed open by Lieutenant Jack Fellows. The Mayor marched purposefully into the room.

“Good morning, Mr. Mayor,” the Police Commissioner and the receptionist said in chorus.

“Morning,” the Mayor said to the receptionist and then turned to the Police Commissioner, whom he did not seem especially overjoyed to see. “Is it important?”

“Yes, Mr. Mayor, I think so,” Czernich replied.

“Well, then, come on in. Let’s get it over with,” the Mayor said, and marched into the inner office, the door to which was now held open by Lieutenant Fellows.

“Good morning,” the Mayor said to his personal secretary as he marched past her desk toward the door of his office. By moving very quickly, Lieutenant Fellows reached it just in time to open it for him.

Commissioner Czernich followed the Mayor into his office and took up a position three feet in front of the Mayor’s huge, ornately carved antique desk. The Mayor’s secretary appeared carrying a steaming mug of coffee bearing the logotype of the Sons of Italy.

The Mayor sat down in his dark green high-backed leather chair, leaned forward to glance at the documents waiting for his attention on the green pad on his desk, lifted several of them to see what was underneath, and then raised his eyes to Czernich.

“What’s so important?”

Commissioner Czernich laid a single sheet of paper on the Mayor’s desk, carefully placing it so that the Mayor could read it without turning it around.

“Sergeant McElroy brought that to my house while I was having my breakfast,” Commissioner Czernich said, a touch of indignation in his voice.

The Mayor took the document and read it.

1. The undersigned has this date placed himself on leave (compensatory time) for a period of fourteen days.

2. The undersigned has this date applied for retirement effective immediately.

3. Inasmuch as the undersigned does not anticipate returning to duty before entering retirement status, the undersigned’s identification card and police shield are turned in herewith.

Matthew L. Lowenstein

Chief Inspector

82-S-1AE (Rev. 3/59) R ESPONSE TO THIS MEMORANDUM MAY

“Damn!” the Mayor said.

Czernich took a step forward and laid a chief inspector’s badge and a leather photo identification folder on the Mayor’s desk.

“You did not see fit to let me know Chief Lowenstein was involved in your investigation,” Czernich said.

“Damn!” the Mayor repeated, this time with utter contempt in his voice, and then raised it. “Jack!”

Lieutenant Fellows pushed the door to the Mayor’s office open.

“Yes, Mr. Mayor?”

“Get Chief Lowenstein on the phone,” the Mayor ordered. “He’s probably at home.”

“Yes, sir,” Fellows said, and started to withdraw.

“Use this phone,” the Mayor said.

Fellows walked to the Mayor’s desk and picked up the handset of one of the three telephones on it.

“This makes the situation worse, I take it?” Commissioner Czernich asked.

“Tad, just close your mouth, all right?”

“Mrs. Lowenstein,” Fellows said into the telephone. “This is Lieutenant Jack Fellows. I’m calling for the Mayor. He’d like to speak to Chief Lowenstein.”

There was a reply, and then Fellows covered the microphone with his hand.

“She says he’s not available,” he reported.

“Tell her thank you,” the Mayor ordered.

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Lieutenant Fellows said, and replaced the handset in its cradle and looked to the Mayor for further orders.

“Take a look at this, Jack,” the Mayor ordered, and pushed the memorandum toward Fellows.

“My God!” Fellows said.

“I had no idea this mess we’re in went that high,” Commissioner Czernich said.

“I thought I told you to close your mouth,” the Mayor said, then looked at Fellows. “Jack, call down to the courtyard and see if there’s an unmarked car down there. If there is, I want it. You drive. If there isn’t, call Special Operations and have them meet us with one at Broad and Roosevelt Boulevard.”

“Yes, sir,” Fellows reported, and picked up the telephone again.

The Mayor watched, his face expressionless, as Fellows called the sergeant in charge of the City Hall detail.

“Inspector Taylor’s car is down there, Mr. Mayor,” Fellows reported.

“Go get it. I’ll be down in a minute,” the Mayor ordered.

“Yes, sir.”

The Mayor watched Fellows hurry out of his office and then turned to Commissioner Czernich.

“How many people know about that memo?”

“Just yourself and me, Mr. Mayor. And now Jack Fellows.”

“Keep-” the Mayor began.

“And Harry McElroy,” Czernich interrupted him. “It wasn’t even sealed. The envelope, I mean.”

“Keep it that way, Tad. You understand me?”

“Yes, of course, Mr. Mayor.”

The Mayor stood up and walked out of his office.

“Sarah,” the Mayor of the City of Philadelphia said gently to the gray-haired, soft-faced woman standing behind the barely opened door of a row house on Tyson Street, off Roosevelt Boulevard, “I know he’s in there.”

She just looked at him.

She looks close to tears, the Mayor thought. Hell, she has been crying. Goddamnitalltohell!

“What do you want me to do, Sarah?” the Mayor asked very gently. “Take the door?”

The door closed in his face. There was the sound of a door chain rattling, and then the door opened. Sarah Lowenstein stood behind it.

“In the kitchen,” she said softly.

“Thank you,” the Mayor said, and walked into the house and down the corridor beside the stairs and pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen.

Chief Matthew L. Lowenstein, in a sleeveless undershirt, was sitting at the kitchen table, hunched over a cup of coffee. He looked up when he heard the door open, and then, when he saw the Mayor, quickly averted his gaze.

The Mayor laid Lowenstein’s badge and photo ID on the table.

“What is this shit, Matt?”

“I’m trying to remember,” Lowenstein said. “I think if you just walked in, that’s simple trespassing. If you took the door, that’s forcible entry.”